


taught me those things a young man should know

by folignos



Category: Hockey RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to the CBA, every rookie, upon signing their ELC, is to be assigned a veteran player (with two or more seasons of NHL experience), to receive guidance and support for the transition between NCAA/CHL/overseas leagues to NHL.</p><p>Nowhere in the CBA does it mention kneeling, but it happens anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	taught me those things a young man should know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nighimpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/gifts).



> nighimpossible prompted "I would love a fic set during Jonny’s first two years on the Hawks". this is-- mostly that? i hope you enjoy!
> 
> endless and undying thanks to jenna for betaing, and amanda, without whom this literally wouldn't exist. seriously, without her, i would have quit writing fic forever. 
> 
> title from-- a civil wars song. i forget which one.

According to the CBA, every rookie, upon signing their ELC, is to be assigned a veteran player (with two or more seasons of NHL experience), to receive guidance and support for the transition between NCAA/CHL/overseas leagues to NHL.

Nowhere in the CBA does it mention kneeling, but it happens anyway. Jonny read an article about it when he was at UND, how the combination of physical contact and the weird mental space kneeling causes helps rookies adjust, let go of bad games, calm down after good ones. It’s a _good_ thing, he knows. It _helps_ people.

He finds out the name of his vet a couple of weeks before they’re gonna meet at training camp, a guy called Brent Seabrook. He knows the name but they’ve never met. Jonny doesn’t sleep all that great for those couple of weeks. He keeps thinking about heavy hands on his shoulders, the back of his neck.

He practices in his hotel room the night before. The carpet’s rough on his knees, but the pillow he uses as padding is too slippery. He feels off-balance. He hates it a little bit, knows he’s gonna hate it more when someone else is in the room.

-

Seabs is great.

That almost makes it worse, Jonny thinks.

He’s got a wicked sense of humour, and he’s the first one to get Sharpy in a headlock for harrassing the rookies, and when Jonny scores his first NHL goal on his first shot, in his first game, he looks across the ice and Seabs is barreling towards him, yelling.

Seabs-- doesn’t make him kneel. He knows a couple of the other rookies kneel all the time, has seen some of them kneeling _in the locker room_ , just dropping down and pressing their foreheads to bare skin like it’s nothing. It makes Jonny’s skin crawl, a little.

The Hawks tell him that it’s best for him to live with Seabs, that way he can have the support of a vet basically whenever he needs. Jonny kind of thinks he’d like privacy more than support, but when he’s moving his stuff in, Seabs appears at his bedroom door and tells him that he’ll never come into Jonny’s room if the door’s shut, and even if the door is open, he’ll knock.

‘I lived with Duncs in my rookie year,’ Seabs tells him over takeout that night. ‘It was great having someone around all the time, but he gets super annoying if he’s lonely, he was constantly wandering into my room and lounging around on my bed wanting to do shit.’

Jonny hums and nods around a mouthful of noodles.

‘So don’t worry about like, privacy,’ Seabs says. ‘I get it. If you want to come home and go in your room and keep the door shut all night, a-okay with me. I’ll holler when it’s time for dinner.’

Jonny nods again. ‘Thanks,’ he says, and gets a lopsided grin in return.

-

A couple of weeks in, after training one day, Seabs sidles up next to him while he’s toweling his hair. ‘Come on, rookie, let’s get lunch.’

‘--Sure,’ Jonny says, and follows him out to the car silently. Seabs keeps up a steady stream of chatter all the way to the parking lot, and then, as soon as they’re in the car, falls silent, like he’s thinking.

‘So,’ Seabs says, after a couple of minutes. ‘You’re my first rookie,’ he continues, after a pause.

‘Oh,’ Jonny says. ‘Well, you’re my first vet.’

That startles a laugh out of Seabs. ‘I’d hope so,’ he says. ‘What I mean is, I don’t really know what I’m doing here. It’s new for both of us. So if I fuck up, you gotta tell me, okay?’

‘Uh,’ Jonny says, picking at a thread on the hem of his shirt. ‘Okay?’

Seabs grins. ‘Good. We’re going home for lunch, so we can talk properly.’

‘...Okay,’ Jonny repeats, faintly, and spends the rest of the ride trying not to have an anxiety attack.

-

Lunch is lunch. Jonny’s too busy staring at the rug next to the couch the whole meal, trying not to think about what it’s gonna feel like under his knees. Seabs starts up his steady stream of chatter, who on the team is a genuinely good guy, who is not to be talked to before coffee, that kind of thing.

Jonny listens, but takes none of it in. The rug is dark, dark green. It’s frayed on one edge.

‘Duncs brought his dumb dog over, it chewed the edge of my rug,’ Seabs says, and Jonny jumps. ‘That’s what you’re staring at, right?’

‘--Yeah,’ Jonny says, awkward.

Seabs kicks at him gently, and Jonny jumps again.

‘You okay?’ he asks.

‘No,’ Jonny blurts, and then turns bright red. ‘I mean. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.’

‘Jonny,’ Seabs says, gently.

‘It’s the kneeling,’ Jonny says, because apparently his brain is no longer in the drivers seat. ‘I don’t want to. I tried before, on my own, and it was awful, so I don’t want to.’

Seabs doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. ‘Oh,’ he says, eventually, chewing his lip.

‘Sorry,’ Jonny says, looking down at his knees.

‘It’s okay,’ Seabs says. ‘I don’t-- we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. It’s not mandatory.’

‘But it’s expected,’ Jonny says, miserable.

Seabs pauses. ‘...Yeah,’ he admits.

Jonny puts his head in his hands and makes a dismayed sound. ‘They’re gonna send me to the minors,’ he says, mournful.

‘Hey, no,’ Seabs says. ‘I know a bunch of guys who don’t kneel. If kneeling doesn’t work, then we’ll try something else. ’

Jonny perks up. ‘Like what?’

‘Stuff like just sitting at my feet, no touching at all, or-- Seabs pauses, flushing lightly. ‘I know one guy who would get the rookie to lie on the sofa and put his head in his lap.’

Jonny’s cheeks heat. ‘Uh,’ he says.

‘We don’t have to try that,’ Seabs rushes. ‘I’m just saying. There are. Alternates.’

‘Maybe we can try them,’ Jonny allows. ‘Not right now though.’

‘Not right now,’ Seabs agrees. ‘I, uh. I would like to try regular kneeling with you, though? I’m not scary, I promise.’

It’s on the tip of Jonny’s tongue to say no. But Seabs is sitting there, one leg folded underneath him while he eats around the cucumber in his salad, and looking-- encouraging, Jonny guesses? Like all Seabs wants is for Jonny to make a decision, and he’ll support that decision no matter what. He wants to say no.

What he actually says is, ‘Yeah, okay.’ He pauses. ‘But if I don’t like it, I’m not doing it again.’

Seabs smiles. ‘Fair.’

Jonny takes another mouthful of salad. Seabs asks him something about playing for the Sioux, and just like that, the weirdness is gone. Jonny helps himself to more iced tea, and starts talking about how practice was structured, and Seabs nods along like it’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all day.

-

‘I was thinking we could try kneeling today,’ Seabs says over breakfast about a week later. Jonny chokes on his oatmeal.

‘Uh,’ he says, and then doesn’t really know what else.

‘It’s an off day, so it’s not like the result of a game will wind you up or stress you out,’ Seabs says, between mouthfuls of coffee. ‘It’s perfect.’

Jonny looks at his bowl, pokes at a blueberry with a spoon. It takes him a whole to realise that Seabs doesn’t look like he’s waiting for Jonny’s answer. He’s tearing pieces of toast off the slice and dipping them in his coffee; a weird habit he picked up in juniors, he says.

‘Okay,’ Jonny says, surprising himself. He looks over at the rug in the living room.

‘Yeah?’ Seabs says, looking at him carefully.

Jonny eats the blueberry he’s been playing with, and nods. ‘Yeah. after breakfast.’ _Before I chicken out_ , he thinks.

-

The rug is super uncomfortable.

Jonny kneels there in sweats and a t-shirt and focuses on a scar on Seabs’ kneecap, and not on the way he can feel his pulse in his ears. He can feel the tension across his shoulders, and he takes big even breaths and tries to will his muscles to relax.

It takes maybe five minutes before Seabs asks him to stand up.

‘You really, really don’t like this, huh?’ he asks, when they’re both sitting at the kitchen table with tea.

‘I really, really don’t,’ Jonny says. ‘I don’t know what it is. I just get really aware of how loud my breathing is, or that the rug is rough, or I don’t even know what else.’ He pauses. ‘Everyone else seems to just sink into it. I don’t know why I don’t.’

‘Some people just don’t,’ Seabs says. ‘Wanna try some other things today?’

 

‘What are my options?’ Jonny says. He takes a sip of his tea.

‘Sitting on the floor,’ Seabs starts. ‘Your head in my lap.’ He drops his gaze. ‘Uh, I know guys with knee injuries sometimes sit on the couch with their back to the other guy’s chest.’

Jonny swallows, and looks at the dregs of his tea. ‘Um,’ he says.

‘Start with the scariest and work our way down?’ Seabs asks. ‘Or start small, and work up?’

Jonny thinks about it, downs the last of his tea. ‘The, uh.’ He stops. ‘The back to chest one?’

Seabs nods. ‘Sure. Let me clear the sofa.’

Seabs, for all he likes to talk about being a Real Adult, is kind of a slob everywhere except the kitchen. The couch is covered in jackets and blankets and magazines, and he shoves it all onto the floor where Jonny had just been kneeling, before dropping onto the cushions, back against one of the arm rests, one leg flush against the back of the couch, and the other propped on the floor. Jonny stands in front of him for a few moments, looking at the space between Seabs’ thighs.

‘I don’t think I’m gonna fit,’ he says, carefully.

Seabs laughs. ‘It’s a big couch,’ he says, and shifts again, making a little more space.

Jonny takes a deep breath, and sits on the couch, shuffling back until his spine hits Seabs.

The thing that Jonny noticed first about Seabs was how big he was. He stands out even in a crowd of hockey players. He feels even bigger now, as he settles around Jonny, arm around his waist, chin just resting on Jonny’s crown.

‘Okay?’ he rumbles, quietly. Jonny stills, and thinks about it. It’s better than kneeling. He doesn’t feel the tension in his shoulders. He _can_ feel Seabs, though. His chest is broad and solid, and rises and falls steadily against Jonny’s back. Jonny can feel his heartbeat, and the way his thumb is just resting on the dip of his waist.

Jonny’s aware Seabs is attractive. He’s nineteen, he’s not _blind_. His eyes are warm and Jonny’s not quite sure if they’re green or brown or a mix of the two, but he keeps getting caught staring before he’s figured it out. He’s not the first guy to have a crush on his vet, he can’t be, but that’s not helpful when Seabs is pressed flush up against him like this. Jonny imagines he can feel Seabs’ soft dick against the small of his back.

‘Jon?’ Seabs says, and Jonny jumps.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘This is-- okay.’ He knows he’s flushed, his breaths are coming a little too quick. He’s willing his dick not to stir any more than the start of the erection he’s got right now.

‘Okay?’ Seabs asks, and Jonny nods, dislodging his head.

‘Yeah.’

Seabs hums. ‘You wanna stay here a while?’

‘...No,’ Jonny says, and wriggles free. He doesn’t know what to do when he’s standing up, hands hanging uselessly at his sides. Seabs looks confused.

‘I thought--’

‘It was fine,’ Jonny says. ‘But it’s still not-- what kneeling should be.’

‘Hmm,’ Seabs says. ‘Okay.’

That throws Jonny. ‘Okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Seabs says. ‘We’ll find something. Doesn’t have to be today, but we will. Don’t sweat it, rookie.’

-

Jonny tries not to sweat it, he really does. But they try non traditional kneeling after non traditional kneeling, and nothing works. Nothing.

He loses his temper more than once, storms off into his room and slams the door to seethe. Seabs leaves him to it, and knocks on his door a couple hours later telling him dinner’s ready.

Jonny comes out and apologises, and Seabs gives him a lopsided grin and a plate of food, but Jonny-- hates it so much, really. Hates every aspect of kneeling.

‘I don’t think it’s working,’ he says one night, curled up on the end of the couch, watching one of Seabs’ weird old black and white films.

‘There are some other things we can try,’ Seabs says, calm, eyes on the screen. He has one of Jonny’s feet in his lap, and he’s thumbing at the ball of it casually.

‘I don’t want to try anything else,’ Jonny says, sullen. ‘I hate it.’

Seabs nods. ‘Okay,’ he says.

Jonny opens his mouth to argue, but-- ‘Wait. What?’

‘If you don’t like it, you don’t like it. I’m not gonna make you,’ Seabs says, easily.

‘--Oh,’ Jonny says, helplessly. He falls quiet for a little, and then, ‘Who did you kneel for?’

‘Jassen Cullimore,’ Seabs says. ‘He was cool. A lot older than me, but that made it easier, I think.’

‘Did you like it?’Jonny asks.

Seabs shrugs. ‘Yeah? I kind of didn’t have a choice, you know? I got used to it.’

Jonny flinches, pulls his foot out of Seabs’ lap to curl his arms around his knees. They both fall silent, but Jonny keeps thinking about how claustrophobic he feels down on his knees, between Seabs’ thighs.

He felt the least panicky with Seabs’ arm around his waist, but. That was its own problem.

Jonny looks at the movie again. He has no idea what’s happening, but he sinks into the film easily, and almost forgets Seabs is sitting just at the other end of the couch, eyes fixed on the screen.

_‘I love somebody. All the time I've been... I've been looking for someone to love me. And now I love somebody. And it's so easy. Why is it easy now?’_

_‘I don't know; it is for me, too.’_

_‘I love you, Jim. I really mean it.’_

_‘Well, I'm glad.’_

-

It’s a shitty game. It’s really, really, shitty game.

Jonny paces around his room for a good twenty minutes, showers until the water runs cold, but he can’t seem to leave the game behind him.

Skills had followed Marty out of the locker room, shoulders bowed. All the rookies, one by one, had been collected by their vets.

Jonny had left while Seabs was in the shower. He knows people are talking, knows management is getting kind of uneasy about how their Young Star isn’t accepting the status quo, but he thinks he might prefer a stint in the minors than being forced to kneel.

When he’s in the shower, he has a sudden, chilling thought. If he doesn’t kneel for Seabs, the organisation is well within their right to split them up and assign Jonny to another guy. Someone who might force Jonny to kneel after every game like some guys do. He shivers, and shuts the water off, scrubbing at his face, uneasy.

-

His hair is still dripping when he knocks on Seabs’ hotel door.

‘Jon? You okay?’ Seabs asks, stepping back into the room to let Jonny in.

‘Yeah, I just-- I need to kneel,’ he says, closing his eyes.

‘You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to do,’ Seabs says, carefully, and Jonny opens his eyes to glare.

‘If I don’t kneel for you, they’ll make me kneel for someone else,’ Jonny says. ‘I don’t-- want that.’

There’s a spot on the carpet, like a drink was knocked off the nightstand. Jonny goes and stands next to it. He’s not wearing shoes, can feel how soft the carpet is. He can’t go down. He just can’t. He clenches his fists and tries to get his knees to unlock. He can get over this, he can.

Seabs’ hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches.

‘Why don’t we try one last thing?’ Seabs asks. He’s practically whispering in Jonny’s ear, he’s so close.

‘What?’ Jonny asks, too loud. He repeats it, quieter.

Seabs’ hand drops to his hip, and he pushes, spinning Jonny gently. They’re face to face all of a sudden, until Seabs pushes, and Jonny lands on the bed, bouncing a little on the mattress. Seabs nudges at one of Jonny’s thighs with his knee, spreading them a little.

A split second before it happens, Jonny realises what he’s doing.

‘Seabs, you don’t--’ he starts, but Seabs goes to his knees, fluid and easy and like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Jonny’s breath catches in his throat.

Seabs’ head is bowed, and he can see the nape of his neck, where his hair is short, and his shirt gapes. His breaths are slow and deep and even in a way that sounds calm, not like Jonny, trying to keep his shit together for the twenty minute period that’s recommended.

‘How are you so calm?’ Jonny asks. Seabs looks up at him, hair falling in his face. He looks confused, a little dazed. ‘Whenever I kneel, I feel like my heart’s going to pop,’ he admits, and Seabs shifts a little closer, settles on his heels a little easier.

‘I like it,’ he murmurs. ‘Lets me think about stuff.’

Jonny opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t know what to say. ‘Oh,’ he settles for, lamely.

Seabs is beautiful like this, he realises all of a sudden. His eyes are soft and unfocused and really, really green. His lips are parted slightly, bottom one protruding out enough that Jonny kind of wants to bite it. He pushes Seabs’ bangs out of his face without even realising, and Seabs leans into the touch.

Seabs curls a hand around Jonny’s bare calf and makes circles with his thumb. Jonny’s hand stays nestled in Seabs’ hair, not really doing anything, just there.

‘See?’ Seabs asks, after a while. ‘Better like this, right?’

Jonny nods, and sets the alarm on Seabs’ phone to go off in fifteen minutes. As much as he kind of wants to keep Seabs there forever, he sat through enough seminars on kneeling to know that knees can only take so much at a time.

-

Jonny feels like he’s been a Hawk for all of five minutes sometimes, but fuck if it isn’t satisfying to beat the _Red Wings_ in their own building. The team goes out afterwards, sneaks Jonny into a bar, and Seabs buys him a beer, ‘As long as you promise not to tell Savvy,’ he says, laughing, already half a beer deep and still buzzed from the game.

Jonny promises. Beer kind of tastes like ass, but it goes straight to his head, and by the time he’s finished it, he’s pleasantly tipsy and can’t stop telling Seabs how much he wants fries. Seabs ends up walking to the hotel with him and getting fries on the way.

They’re hanging out in Seabs’ hotel room when Jonny starts getting restless, kicking his feet out and sprawling on the bed.

‘Hey, twitchy,’ Seabs says, from his spot on the other bed. ‘Calm down.’

Jonny pulls a face at him. ‘Bored,’ he says. ‘I wanna do stuff, I think I’m still hyped up from the game.’

Seabs hums, and gets off the bed. ‘You wanna kneel? Calms me down.’

Jonny opens his mouth to be like, ‘What the fuck, no?’ but Seabs just corrects himself.

‘Do you want me to kneel, I mean.’

Jonny shuts his mouth, thinks about it.

Seabs has knelt for him a handful of times in the past couple of weeks. It’s-- nice. Calming. Jonny thinks this might be what actual kneeling is supposed to feel like.

Recently he’s been getting more daring. He strokes Seabs’ hair sometimes, or scratches at the back of his neck, where the knobs of his spine start. Seabs leans into the touches real easy, and gets this dopey smile, grinning up at Jonny wonkily.

‘Sure,’ he says, and Seabs beams, and drops to his knees, easy as ever.

Jonny had changed out of his suit as soon as he’d gotten to the hotel room, and he’s wearing some basketball shorts, stolen from Seabs. The material is super thin, and he smooths it down over his bare thighs, but they don’t seem to cover much, especially when Seabs nudges his thighs apart and shuffles between them to press his cheek against bare skin.

Seabs had at least two more beers than Jonny, and his cheeks are flushed pink, and his smile is even wonkier than normal when Jonny cards through his hair and he looks up at him. ‘Hey,’ he says, quietly.

‘Hey,’ Jonny says, even quieter. ‘Is this okay?’

‘Perfect,’ Seabs says, and settles in, rubbing his cheek against Jonny’s thigh before stilling.

Jonny wants him. He wishes there were a better way of putting that, but Seabs is inches away from his dick (rapidly swelling) and his lips are slightly parted, tongue just poking out the tiniest bit, and Jonny can’t help but imagine what would happen if he tightened his hand in Seabs’ hair and eased his cock out from under the waistband of his shorts.

Seabs would be good at blowjobs, he thinks. He’s got really nice lips, and he’s constantly chewing on the end of his stick, when Savvy’s talking in the locker room.

‘What you thinking about?’ Seabs rumbles. ‘You have that look you get on the ice sometimes, just before a shootout.’

‘Nothing,’ Jonny lies, but he can feel his dick stirring. The basketball shorts are hiding nothing. Seabs’ eyes slide down Jonny’s body, and he smirks.

‘Jonathan Toews,’ he says. ‘Are you thinking dirty thoughts about me being down here?’

Jonny chokes on his tongue a little.

‘No?’ he tries, but Seabs is sitting up a little straighter, the hand that was curled around his ankle is sliding up to the underside of his knee. He tugs suddenly, and Jonny’s thighs are even more spread, the material tightening over his dick, now well on the way to hard.

‘Wanna tell me?’ Seabs murmurs. his hand has shifted to the inside of Jonny’s thigh, and he presses his thumb to a bruise there, making Jonny jump.

Jonny shakes his head, and Seabs hums. ‘Wanna show me?’ he asks, and Jonny’s cheeks turn hot.

His hand is shaking when he dips it into his shorts. Seabs is watching him as intensely as he does anything else, upper lip wedged between his teeth.

Seabs looks surprised when Jonny has his dick in his hand, waistband of the shorts nudged up behind his balls. ‘I’ve never done this with a cut dick before,’ he admits, and reaches out to touch. ‘Can I?’

Jonny nods, mouth dry.

Seabs slides his hand from the tip to the root, and circles it with his thumb and forefinger, holding it steady.

‘Fuck, _Seabs_ ,’ Jonny manages, hoarse.

Seabs laughs. ‘I’ve got your dick in my hand, Jon. You can call me Brent.’

He leans forward and swipes his tongue over the slit, and Jonny hisses. ‘ _Brent_.’

‘Yeah, babe?’ Brent asks, glancing up at him. ‘You want something?’

‘You,’ Jonny says, immediately, and gets rewarded by Brent taking the cockhead into his mouth and sucking hard.

‘You already got me,’ Brent says, when he pulls back. There’s a string of saliva from his lip to Jonny’s dick. It should be gross, Jonny thinks, but he’s kind of transfixed by it anyway.

‘Your mouth,’ Jonny says, and Brent laughs, throwing his head back a little.

‘Come on, sweetheart,’ Brent coaxes. ‘Give me details. I wanna know exactly what you were thinking about when you got all silent and far away on me.’

Jonny’s so red he thinks his head might explode. ‘I was thinking about what would happen if I pulled your hair,’ he admits.

Brent’s smile is caramel-slow. ‘Try it and find out,’ he says, shaking his head a little, so the strands Jonny carefully pushed into place fall into his eyes again.

Jonny curls the hand in Brent’s hair a little tighter and watches his eyes go warm. When he tugs, Brent’s lips part even more, and he exhales slowly, hot air over the tip of Jonny’s dick, already beading pre-come.

‘Come on, Jon,’ Brent says, rough. ‘You can pull harder than that, can’t you?’

Jonny pulls sharply, and Brent gasps before a filthy grin slides across his face. ‘That’s more like it,’ he says, laughing a little. ‘Gonna make you come now,’ he adds, and leans in again, taking Jonny into his mouth.

Jonny was totally right. Brent sucks dick like a pro, takes all of Jonny in easily, and doesn’t even pause to adjust when Jonny bumps the back of his throat. His eyes flutter shut, and he looks for all the world like there’s nowhere he’d rather be than on his knees in front of Jonny.

Brent’s free hand is hooked under Jonny’s thigh, holding it still. Jonny shifts a little so he can press his heel into Brent’s spine carefully, changing the angle enough that when Brent pulls off the mouth at the base of it, he can lick at Jonny’s perineum, point of his tongue just flicking against Jonny’s rim, and he makes a sound.

Brent huffs out a laugh onto saliva damp skin, making him shiver. ‘Maybe next time,’ he says, and drags his mouth up the underside of Jonny’s cock before swallowing it down again.

Jonny has to close his eyes at that, thinks about being on his back, Brent’s face between his thighs, big, wide hands holding him open so he can tongue-fuck him until he can’t breathe. Yeah. Next time, Jonny thinks, and comes down Brent’s throat by accident.

Brent coughs, and pulls off, come dribbling over his lower lip a little, and he scrubs at his face with his hand.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Jonny gasps, leaning forward to tilt his jaw up. ‘I didn’t realise I was so close.’

Brent coughs again, wipes his lip with the back of his hand. ‘Just a little warning next time, kid. I don’t mind swallowing, but I like to know when it’s coming.’

Jonny nods, guilty.

Brent’s rock-hard in his pants. Jonny slides off the bed onto his knees and shoves his hand into Brent’s underwear without asking, eyes widening when he wraps his fingers around the base. He’s seen Brent in the shower, knows what he’s packing, but it’s different when it’s his hand folded around it.

Jonny goes still. Brent thrusts into his hand, minutely. ‘You gonna freak on me?’ he asks, quietly. Not judging, not mocking, just-- Brent.

‘No,’ Jonny says, shaking his head. He starts his hand moving, and gets a satisfying sound in return. ‘Just-- I haven’t done this to someone else before. The angle is weird.’

‘Aww, hell,’ Brent says. ‘Don’t tell me that was your first beej, I’m gonna feel like a dirty old man.’

‘You’re twenty two,’ Jonny reminds him. ‘And it wasn’t my first blowjob, I’ve had girlfriends before.’

Brent sighs in faux-relief, and Jonny squeezes gently in retaliation. They’ve slowly shifted so Brent’s sitting on the carpet with Jonny in his lap, straddling Brent’s thighs, forehead practically pressed to Brent’s collarbone. When he comes, his whole body shudders and then goes limp.

‘Fuck,’ Brent says, dropping to his elbows. ‘Been a while since someone else has made me come, I thought I’d forgotten what it was like.’ He props himself up on one, and grabs the collar of Jonny’s shirt, pulling him down for a slightly bitter tasting kiss. His lips linger, and Jonny panics a little.

‘Things aren’t gonna change, are they?’ he asks, all of a sudden. ‘Between us, I mean.’

‘Nah,’ Brent says, letting go of his shirt. He looks very satisfied with himself. Jonny turns pink again.

‘And they’re not gonna take you away from me?’ Jonny presses.

‘Not if you don’t tell them what we just did,’ Brent says. ‘I’m keeping my mouth shut.’

‘Okay,’ Jonny says. ‘Good. Me too.’

Brent arches his back until it pops, and nudges Jonny off him. ‘I’m gonna shower. You staying or going?’

‘I can stay?’ Jonny asks, surprised.

Brent shrugs. ‘Course. You thought I was gonna suck you off and kick you out?’

Jonny blushes, and gets up off the floor, tucking himself back in. ‘Then I wanna stay,’ he admits, shy.

‘Good,’ Brent says, stripping his shirt off. ‘I want you to stay, too. Don’t fall asleep on me, Jonny.’

Jonny clambers into bed wearing the stolen shorts and tee, and curls up in the middle, facing the bathroom door. He can hear Brent singing in the shower, and can’t help but smile, but by the time the water shuts off, he’s already asleep.

-

Jonny hadn’t ever really thought they were going to make the playoffs in his rookie year. He’s not stupid, he knows he’s good (knows the /team/ is good), but they just aren’t there yet.

‘Next year,’ he says to the media, on the night they officially get eliminated from the playoff race. ‘This offseason everyone’s gonna put a hundred percent in, and this time next year, we’re gonna be sitting in a playoff position.’

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking suck, though, sitting there in the locker room and knowing you still have a handful of meaningless games to play before you can bow out and spend your summer on the golf course is making Jonny want to throw something. He scowls at his skates, and snatches the ballcap off his head.

Across the locker room, Brent gives him a look. Jonny ignores it, and gets in the shower.

Brent’s waiting for him when he gets out, sits in his stall quietly while Jonny dresses in his suit and fights his tie, and eventually shoves a toque on and follows Jonny out of the room.

The drive back to their apartment is silent. Jonny knows Brent’s taking this just as hard as him, maybe harder.

Jonny doesn’t know what he’d been expecting when they got home. Brent to shut himself in his room, maybe? Get some beers out of the fridge and get sad and drunk together?

He’s not expecting Brent to head straight for that chewed old green rug and drop to his knees, still in his suit, but he does.

‘What the fuck?’

Brent looks up at him. ‘What?’

‘What are you doing?’ Jonny pulls at his tie, wrenching it from around his neck and throwing it on the coffee table.

‘I’m kneeling, Jonny,’ Brent says, patiently.

‘Fuck that,’ Jonny says, harsh.

‘You don’t have to sit,’ Brent says, calm. His head is bowed. He looks like it’s just a normal day. Like he’s waiting for Jonny to sit so he can shuffle up between his thighs and settle there.

‘I’m not going to,’ Jonny says, kicks off his shoes, and sits in the armchair furthest away from Brent.

Brent looks at him, hums, and ducks his head again.

Jonny flips through the channels, but he keeps settling on the highlights of the game. Sees himself get burnt on the PK, sees the golden chance he missed just at the end of the second, tipping it wide. He could have _gotten them on the board_. He knows as well as anyone that hockey’s about momentum. A goal then could have saved them the lethargic third period, where it felt like the whole team was skating through mud with their eyes shut.

Brent keeps _looking_ at him. Jonny does his best to ignore him, but they show Bobby fucking Ryan’s game winner again and again and again and eventually he turns the TV off and snaps.

‘Stop _looking_ at me like that,’ he says, glowering. ‘I don’t need kneeling. I don’t need _you_.’ He’s lying, of course he is, but Brent doesn’t even flinch at the words.

‘I know,’ he says, and that throws Jonny.

I-- you know?’

Brent shrugs. ‘It’s a two way street, Jon.’

Jonny-- doesn’t get it.

‘You’re not the only person who gets something from this,’ Brent says, carefully, and-- oh.

‘Oh,’ Jonny says. He takes a step towards Brent, still on his knees. ‘I didn’t realise,’ he says, quietly.

Brent drops his gaze again to where his hands are clasped in his lap. ‘Now you do.’

‘Sorry,’ Jonny offers. Takes another step closer, until he can reach out and put his hand on the back of Brent’s neck.

He knows it’s probably bullshit, but he does feel a little better, thumb slipping round to Brent’s pulse point easily.

Sitting down feels like letting go. Brent leans in to press a kiss to the material on the side of Jonny’s knee, and then lets his cheek rest there, looking up at Jonny through his eyelashes while Jonny strokes and strokes his hair with his free hand.

‘Next season,’ Jonny murmurs, after an amount of time he couldn’t begin to guess at has passed.

‘Next season,’ Brent agrees. ‘You know they’re gonna give you the C, right?’

Jonny does know, but it feels so arrogant to nod. He just leans down and kisses Brent gently, both hands sliding up to his hair, tilting his head back easily.

Whether they give him the C or not, all Jonny really wants from next season is to keep doing this with Brent. There’s no kneeling obligation after his rookie season, but nothing about this has been doing how the CBA tells them it should be. He figures keeping it going as they are isn’t going to hurt anyone. Especially not Brent, who looks so calm and loose on his knees, kissing Jonny easy and languid like they have all the time in the world.

Jonny guesses they kind of do, now.

 

 


End file.
